Swami's NFL Pool 2018: The Root of the Monday Taunt XIV

December 9, 2013

The Root of the Monday Taunt XIV

A Lament for Loss of Light: One valiant soul laid brightly bare, the masses weep: O Time! O Time! Up and up he climbed the parlous stair, no stranger to heights ascended before, in days of yore, in Holy prime. Not this day --- the Light is no more.

We bid adieu to the Holy Light, who fell in the Fourteenth Week. There are now only five who remain, including yours truly, who trusted his Beloveds* and was not disappointed by the width of Antonio Brown's shoe.

Five, we five few: Hollandia, Lebanator, DADY, Pillow, and Swami. I know not what tomorrow brings, but on this day, in this place, there is brightness despite the loss of Light, and so will the Swami go forth, bearing the bold flag.

That is all.

*Note: the Swami Hex is alive and well. Only one remains of those who took the Saints over the Beloveds in Week 04. If I were Hollandia, I would be very, very afraid. That is truly all.

Introducing . . .

. . . Ze German, a frothy, filthy, unfiltered 'Skins-lover bringing you weekly rants from his tapestry-laden castle high upon the Zugspitze peak. There is wisdom and method to his madness, however, so pay attention -- just look out for the women and children.

. . . The Holy Light, and the best of us, a beacon of strength, dignity, and truth, and shining where there is darkness. As it was in Ezekiel, his word is his bond and his name is the law, and he shall strike down those who dare not listen when he doth speak.

. . . The Hooded Fiend, brilliant, diabolical, devious -- the smartest man you've never met, and will never have the chance. Locked away in the dungeons below a nondescript building, we only bring the Fiend out to post when the situation is most dire.

. . . El Doctor, the tall, dark, hunky, and handsome resident surgeon of Suicide. Women love his strong hands, men respect his keen mind, and Swami requires his wicked wit, but no one understands his almost unholy passion for autos and linen pants.

. . . Man of Wench, that staunch fan of all things Philly and a fine specimen of masculinity, bold enough to tie the knot with the feisty, infamous Wench. Whether at the grill or at the bar, with a healthy glass of vino in his hand he'll bill you by the hour for a taste of his good times.

. . . Master of Macabre, a delightfully sinful and sinister purveyor of doom and gloom, keeper of all things dark and deathly. It is unsure what horrifies more: his spectral air, his cadaverous crypt, his Machiavellian machinations, or his penchant for Princess and the Frog.

. . . Shapeshifter, he of the ever-changing ways, ever-shifting forms, and everlasting enthusiasm. Our newest commentator brings forth pomp, verbosity, and circumstance on scale to rival even the Swami himself. Shifty, yes, and subtle when necessary, his form is never out of fashion.